


Silent Remedy

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Blood and Gore, Bondage, Captive, Collars, Drugs, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Enemies, M/M, Master/Pet, Mute Rook, Muteness, Non-Sexual Bondage, Ownership, Possessive Behavior, Psychological Torture, Soldier of war, Switching Sides, Torture, Training, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, guard dog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:00:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: "The seal has been closed, my children. The Collapse has been abated. The sinner has become apart of our flock, he has been cleansed and will join our endeavors beyond the gates of Eden." Joseph's voice rang out over every speaker and media device, every television, radio and phone delivered his message to the masses.The war between the Resistance and the peggies has shifted in Eden's Gate's favor. It was a near deadly blow to the survivors still fighting across the county. An image of the Seeds gathering together with a new member to their Heraldry. A familiar figure presented, knelt before Joseph in absolute submission, flanked on either side by the smug smiles of Jacob and John. The badge of authority was replaced by the Sunburst insignia of Eden's Gate, a collar of ownership wrapped around his throat in heavy leather, branded with the same marking and engraved elegantly with the name Seed.The figure rose at Joseph's gentle touch, foreheads pressing together in affection and acceptance, a hand brushing over dark hair before the Father drew away from the silent foreboding sentinel that had become their pet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a writing request from JadeSpeedster17 and a few others who wanted to see more of my original character known as Mute Rook or his real name, Jasper Slade. 
> 
> This story is a first for me of putting one of my OC's into a fanfiction so I really hope this turns out well. Jasper has been a character of mine for years that doesn't get enough love or attention. So here he is. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

"The seal has been closed, my children. The Collapse has been abated. The sinner has become apart of our flock, he has been cleansed and will join our endeavors beyond the gates of Eden." Joseph's voice rang out over every speaker and media device, every television, radio and phone delivered his message to the masses.

  
  
The war between the Resistance and the peggies has shifted in Eden's Gate's favor. It was a near deadly blow to the survivors still fighting across the county. An image of the Seeds gathering together with a new member to their Heraldry. A familiar figure presented, knelt before Joseph in absolute submission, flanked on either side by the smug smiles of Jacob and John. The badge of authority was replaced by the Sunburst insignia of Eden's Gate, a collar of ownership wrapped around his throat in heavy leather, branded with the same marking and engraved elegantly with the name _Seed._

  
  
The figure rose at Joseph's gentle touch, foreheads pressing together in affection and acceptance, a hand brushing over dark hair before the Father drew away from the silent foreboding sentinel that had become their pet.

  
  
Jasper's fingertips pressed against the warm leather around his neck, feeling the smooth material as he receded into thought. The collar was supposed to ensure his safety. The peggies were warned not to shoot the collared deputy, well, now ex-deputy. He had spent so long getting shot at, that many peggies had developed itchy trigger fingers in his presence. They had tried to kill him for so long that they now had to suppress that instinctive desire to put a bullet in his skull. Especially when one considers how many of their friends and family members Jasper had killed in the name of the Resistance. They would have to go through an adjustment period, to really accept him as one of their own. Many remained suspicious about his intentions despite Jasper going through every trial, cleansing and atonement the Seeds could throw at him. He's had his flesh carved from his body, been starved and stabbed and broken down into a delirium too many times to count. Both John and Jacob were thorough in asserting their stances. In reminding him of their own suspicions.

  
  
It wouldn't be the first time someone has played along just to get close to Joseph to harm him and their project. The brothers had learned from past experiences and were certain, by the end of it all, that Jasper was safe. Needless to say, that didn't stop them from keeping him on a short leash. Usually kept at heel either by John or Jacob's sides. Sometimes he'd be lent to Faith but it had quickly become apparent that the (ex-) deputy didn't respond well to the Bliss. He clawed his way out of her region, killed three peggies that tried to apprehend him in his drugged haze and tracked him all the way to the front gates of the Veteran Center where he prowled the exterior until Jacob came to collect him. His following punishment wasn't anything to snuff at, but they all had learned a valuable lesson in that.

 

Since then, the Seeds had kept Jasper close at hand, sending him out only when they needed some dirty work done. Normally it was trailing out with a handful of peggies to fixed damaged Wolf Beacons or to help John’s men with the baptisms. John would keep him present during all of his cleansing and confessions. Jasper standing over like the sentinel he was, an enforcer to ensure no trouble starts and keep any attempts at rescuing recruits at bay. Any recruits who tried to make a break for freedom would cease the moment Jasper entered the fray. Even the mention of his name would still them like a deer in the headlights.

 

Unlike most peggies, Jasper had no ordained region he belonged to. He was a lone wolf prowling whichever territory he desired to hunt his prey and hunt he did. Man or beast, it didn’t matter. None stood a chance against him but he didn’t flaunt that. He avoided areas that were well populated by civilians. He didn’t like going near the usual places around Fall’s End or the outposts. He cleared them as quickly as he could with the least amount of casualties. He’d take the greatest number of hostages then the Seeds ever had prior. He’d face the spitting venom of old comrades, let them curse his name and his loyalty.

 

It was painful at first, leaving him sick and shaken afterwards, coming undone at the seams with regret. He’d put on a strong facade when Jacob or John would call his name and beckon him back, play that it never really bothered him and eventually it stopped being a problem. He could run these procedures without his hands shaking, without his mouth going dry and that sickening knot curling in his stomach. He still lost sleep over it but the pain had long since gone numb, joining all the rest of the sensations and feelings he crammed down into a dark little place and locked away. He smoothed the jagged edges so the sharp stabbing only became an idle discomfort. A subtle reminder that this was wrong but he would curb it with a reminder that it was better then killing them. It was always better than killing them. Enough people had died. They needed to save people now.

 

It took a month just to get him this far. To break his mind into the collective mold that everyone else's was. To become the compliant eager and obedient pup they desired he be. The potential was there. Society had done quite the number on him already, softening the tense plateau of his being, wearing it down to fit the neat little space others built for him. The rest was the easy part, starting with the cleansing and atonement.

  


* * *

 

  


It wasn't his smartest move yet. Rook had forgotten that John had a personal vendetta against him and had grown lazy in his vigilance. He let himself be caught off guard and ambushed, as ridiculous as that may sound. He thought he was being careful, making his camp for the night in one of the dozens of abandoned farm houses around the Holland Valley. It would be just his luck that said farmhouse he he decided to sleep in for the night was on the Peggie list of buildings to ransack and burn to the ground. Those Peggie bastards had a field day trussing him up and giving him a bit of bliss for the road. To others, that rancid drug tasted and smelled so sweet but to him, it will always be a bitter acrid flavor to his senses. It never agreed with him, no matter how many times Eden’s Gate has tried to influence him with it. It always never really stuck, not like with the others.

 

He wasn't surprised to see the Baptist when his head was finally on straight. He was dazed and fuzzy all over, feeling the lingering tendrils of bliss pulling at his limbs and crawling under his skin like persistent insects. He shivered, head tilting to the side in his restraints to consider the man before him. It was a nice change of pace at least, better then being drowned off a river bank or being forced into another round of russian roulette confessions. This time it was just John and Rook and... _a rather large manila envelope?_ The envelope in question rested on the metal table beside the Baptist who eagerly awaited his captive’s consciousness, comprehensive lucidity was optional apparently. As was consent.

 

As Rook’s gaze met John’s, an amused and satisfied smile spread across his face, a little too creepy for Rook’s liking. It was a cheshire grin that told the deputy he was in for a doozy this time. “Well, well, well. Good morning Deputy.” He greeted with arms wide open, an odd reflection of the elder Seed the first time he met him. It stirred shivers down Rook’s spine as he shifted in place, tilting his head to look around for some way out of here. He wasn’t looking forward to become John’s personal dart board, the instinctive need to flee was already burrowing into his bones and winding him up. John sensed this and hushed him a look of mild disappointment flickering across his features as a swift stride brought him too close for comfort. Their faces too close together as John hushed his actions, hands resting on his shoulders, then slowly sliding down his biceps and squeezing. His grip was firm but not painful, a gesture of unlikely comfort that oddly enough, caused the deputy to go still. His eyes met those electric blue pearls, gazing up in stilled silence as the baptist offered a warmer, less threatening smile.

 

“There we go.” He purred, palms rubbing up and down along his arms in careful strokes s he continued. “I’ve learned quite a bit about you since our last little heart to heart, Deputy.” He straightened up slowly, hands falling away to rest on his hips with a self-satisfied smug little grin. “Since you’re not very _talkative_ , I needed to adapt for our confessions. Lucky for you, you don’t need to speak for this. I’ve pulled a few strings and found all the sins of your past. You only need to accept them, let me lay them bare across your flesh and remove the darkness that’s troubling your heart. I will free your soul Deputy. I will cleanse you and bring you into our fold.”

 

Rook tensed, a cold dread curling in his stomach as he watched John make his way to the envelope. A slide of the finger and a few familiar files spilled out into a wayward pile across the metal table. He watched John rifle through the older pieces, the documents and paperwork. The photographs of his past that spread blood across his skin and stole the sound of his soul. It carved silence into his heart and muffled even the strongest wails his body could offer up in his mournful youth. Rook wasn’t sure what kind of strings John had wrapped around his fingers, but those files should be locked away and never see the light of day ever again. Those were tales and terrors he had forced himself to forget, to bury along with the silence, into a darkness only reflected in nightmares. He didn’t want it back. He didn’t want to see it all again or even to hear it. Very little good came from those days.

 

John smirked at him, seeing the series of emotions that crossed across his captive’s features. Admiring the sudden pallor that made itself known on his face, the fear that flickered in those dark blue orbs. “Now, now.” John tutted, turning more fully as he approached the Deputy, laying hands over Rook’s, fingers curling over the backs of his and further pinning them to the arm of his chair. His lips tilted into that twisted yet charming smile, a purr leveling from his lips as he continued. “I will save you. You will reach atonement at my hands. I promise you that, Deputy. Or, shall I call you Jasper?” Rook jolted in his seat as the name was pressed past predatory lips. As if he would be devoured at the mere utterance of his birth name. John straightened up with a bit of flourish as he twirled back towards the table and picked up the first of many documents. “Jasper Slade, born 1992.” He started on. “You lost your parents at the age of six.”

 

Rook turned his head down, squeezing his eyes shut as John’s voice carried on, a soft hum on his lips in amusement. “Father suddenly snapped and  butchered your mother with an axe from the garage, then proceeded to end his own life with the family handgun. The reports say you watched it all but never spoke a single word. Medical and psychological evaluations suggest your muteness may be a cause from the trauma but friends of the family stated you had always been a quiet child.” John tilted his head to the side. “I wonder, which is it?”

 

John rummaged through photographs, giving him a sideways look as he rifled through them, watching Rook’s expression, the way his eyes followed his hands as he decided which to go over next. What raw nerve to prod at. Rook kept his head down, averting his gaze from the Baptist and focusing on the rough rope binding his wrists to the worn wood of the chair. Inspecting the red marks it left on his skin when he'd roll his forearm side to side to ease for slack. A hand met his jaw before Rook even realized, his gaze lifted to meet those blue pearls, hard like ice now as they bared into his soul.

 

John raised a photograph to him, the image of a frightened little boy held like a porcelain doll in the arms of a police officer. A head of wispy dark hair and baby blue eyes, irritated around the edges and swollen red from crying. His cheeks tear stained and grimy. The little green tractor onesie he was dressed in had ugly red stains splotching it. The burgundy streaks distorted around his side's where frail arms had held him protectively. His hair was matted in places where blood had dripped and crusted over with time. Pudgy little hands clutched to a stuffed animal dog with a police vest on. A gift from the officer holding him, keeping him safe from the atrocities within the house.

 

Rook shook his head slowly, eyes wide and growing damp as memories returned. Memories he tries so desperately to push away and lock into oblivion. His throat burned with the rise of emotion as John forced him to look. Forced him to come face to face with the sins of his past. The sins of his father and of himself. The sins of a child that never spoke the truth in the presence of a terrible injustice. “Silence in the face of injustice is the same as committing that injustice yourself. Even bystanders pay a price.”

 

John withdrew after that, setting the photo down and picking up the knife resting on his work bench. He inspected the edge, tested the sharpness with his thumb as he hummed a soft tune. He closed the space between them with ease and used the blade to cut away the tight dark fabric of Rook’s shirt, working the shreds off of him with easy glides and precision cuts until nothing obscured the flesh beneath. Fingers pressed over the open plane of sun kissed skin, toned with strenuous activity and scarred over with the recoils of his actions. The older scars were what John was interested in. The ones that faded and bled into the layers, the white lines against darker skin, the tally marks of past impressions.

 

Many of them were from scuffles or fights he got into during school. Often times when defending his adoptive brother from kids who bullied them. Unlike John’s family, his foster parents weren't the kind to use physical violence. He didn't have the best foster parents, living in a household with two single women, sisters who took in unwanted children. They had the money to get them taken care of and have all their needs met but it was like living with nuns. They were unquestionably strict, used verbal and emotional abuse to get what they wanted and put them all down. It conditioned them into a position of complacency. Other kids shouldered it off, let it roll off their backs with only a few scrapes to show for it. Some would retaliate with anger and rebellion.

 

Jasper was the weakest to it, constantly seeking approval or some form of acceptance. Any signs of disappointment were crushing to him. Angelo helped take the brunt of the fallout, trying to soothe the upset boy after yet another harsh chastisement by the sisters. He was afraid of them, dreaded facing them by himself and they were increasingly more infuriated by his silence. They tried everything to make him speak but it only pushed him further inside himself and made his exterior harden, calloused with battles lost and the shrapnel scars of barbed words.

 

John returned to his workbench, eyes roaming over the documents as he inspected the next bit of information. “Three different foster homes. Your caretakers commented on your silence and dissociative tendencies. Your only interests came in the form of a young boy about the same age. Angelo Luciano.” John stated, watching the hollow look cast over his expression. The flickering spark drowning in his eyes. “You had an unprecedented fondness for the boy. Even spoke to him at times. You attended sessions with several different therapists and counselors to address your silence.” Rook gave a slow nod when he met John’s expectant gaze. It was decided that since Jasper only spoke to his adoptive brother, Angelo, that they would not be separated when sent to a new home. That was dictated by the state. For Jasper's mental and emotional well being.

 

It was the right call. Since then, Angelo helped him get through a lot of struggles and hardships. Even helped him open up to other people. The amount of folks to have a vocal two way conversation with him was up to seven now. Which doesn't sound like much unless you consider Jasper didn't speak to another soul until his second year of high school and that was in Angel’s presence. The last person he spoke to was Sheriff Whitehorse and that was in the quiet early morning hours before all the shit with Eden’s Gate went down. They had been alone, preparing for the arrest while Pratt and Hudson prepped the helicopter.

 

“The sessions were all deemed a failure and the only method of help was the young boy.” John continued on. “You got high marks in school. You were intelligent, athletic and outgoing-” John made a snort at that. “Not sure how a mute can be outgoing but I'll give you that.” Rook frowned at the Baptist. Despite what others thought, Jasper did have friends in school. He was just the quiet one that obediently followed along and if anyone messed with them, he'd defend them with his life. “There is commentary from teachers and counselors on behavior….” His voice carried as he mouthed over the words, a soft mumbling of his name as he summarized it. “So, you've always played hero? Not just a recent thing then?” John teased.

 

Rook shifted in his seat, his arms moving in the bindings out of habit as he resituated himself. A wince at the rope burn on his skin was all he offered the Baptist. John sat the documents down, leaning back against the side of the work bench as he crossed his arms nonchalantly. “So is it an attempt to rectify your sins as a child? You play the hero for everyone else because you couldn't do enough when it was truly needed?” Those words were a harsh bite to Rook. His head dropped down, gaze averted as he considered this. It was wholly possible. Nobody else had thought of that, treating the tragedy with kid gloves and only connecting it to his silence. He himself hadn't even thought about it. He didn't want to. He wanted to forget it all. Still wanted to.

 

He squirmed in his seat as John fiddled around with the knife in hand once more. “Your sins are vast and extensive over twenty six years. That's a lot of guilt, Jasper. I know you wish to atone for it. You want salvation.” John approached. “You want to repent. For your _sloth_ . Your _pride_ . Your **_wrath_ ** _._ Cleanse it all from your soul. It will be painful but worthwhile. I promise this.” John's fingers spread across Rook’s chest, searching the hard expanse of clean space, just soft enough to carve forgiveness into his flesh. Rook squeezed his eyes shut, tensed in the hold of the ropes as the edge of the blade teased across his collarbones and played across his pec. He trailed it down carefully, tracing the dips and curves of muscle and bone until he found a perfect spot, nestled snug over his diaphragm. The first bitter bite of cold metal into skin had Rook hissing through clenched teeth. Each letter was carved painstakingly slow, one stroke at a time. He could feel it grating, the slow split of skin giving under the razor edge. The warm streaks of blood that welled up. John used a cloth to wipe away the mess to clear his canvas and continue his work.

 

Letter by letter, Sloth was cut into his skin. Rook endured, heaving breaths in a frantic rhythm. He was chastised briefly for his movements, scolded to hold still which he obliged, albeit reluctantly. Rook’s fingers curled into the arm of the chair, gripping tightly until it was done. John leaned back and marveled at his handiwork, traced it with his fingertips before smiling. He smirked with a giddy form of approval. He wasted little time on the next set of sins. He cleared away a new spot, fingers pressed different spots around Rook’s chest, measuring spacing with his thumb and forefinger the way a photographer frames a landscape or scenery. He treated every atonement like an art. Every carving was a masterpiece he was proud of. A work of art bared on the flesh for all the world to marvel at.

 

Once he settled on a spot, the blade met flesh and pressed deeper, spreading skin like Moses on the tides. Red bubbled up between the ravines crafted at the edge of that knife and flooded down them, trailing like tear drops down his chest, thick and warm. Rook gritted his teeth until his jaw hurt, his wrists fighting the urge to resist, to break free and get as far away from the danger and the pain as he could. It was futile and he knew that. John only appeared more amused by the quiet grunts and shaky groans that followed. _Pride_ was his second sin, interconnected with the _Sloth_ of his past. Where one faded, the other rose up to follow, stronger than before. He allowed a breather before the next one, let Rook gasp and shudder at the burning sensation in his chest. The tight feeling that coiled inside as he dreaded the final marking. John took his time inspecting the deputy’s body, wondering how he would carve this one. Where it would be most befitting.

 

Rook curled his fingers into a fist as he tugged on the ropes once more, feeling those eyes gloss over him. He could almost feel their searing heat regarding him up and down, tracing every outline of his figure. The taut pull, the muscles flexing in small bursts of rebellion. The tightness in his shoulders as they ridge in a slightly hunkered posture, trying to get leverage in the chair. He felt the fingers first, splaying over his wrists and trailing down to curl over his knuckles. John rubbed over the space thoughtfully, an interested hum on his lips before he pressed down over them. He flattened Rook’s right hand against the wood, reached back to his work bench to dig a roll of duct tape from one of the drawers. He worked quickly to bind Rook’s hand to the armrest, wrapping it over and over until he couldn't even wiggle his fingers. The deputy shook his head in quick motions, enough to cause the beginning sting of a headache at his temples.

 

“Hold still, deputy.” He commanded sharply, a hiss between pursed lips before the first bite of the blade cut into his skin. Rook whimpered, holding his place for fear that John might apply too hard of pressure and sever a muscle or simply decide to just drive the blade right through his hand instead. He certainly wouldn't put it past him. This one hurt the worst of the three, as Wrath was carved into his skin, permanent and ugly scar on his person. His shoulders drooped, his arm going slack on the rest as he willed himself to ignore the pain. Fast and deep breaths came like frantic hyperventilation but it was enough of a distraction with the other wounds to ward this one off. His chest burned and every breath agitated the Sloth mark. He was beginning to feel lightheaded, the dizziness swirling around him when John finally finished.

 

He stepped back to admire his handiwork like all the rest, ensuring nothing was out of place. Each letter was neat and tidy. Each stroke was even and perfect. He didn't remove the tape, instead depositing his knife on the counter and withdrawing a clean cloth and a white plastic bottle. It had medical based markings on it, something barely recognizable to Rook at first until John dampened the cloth with the clear liquid. The smell gave it away before the Baptist approached. Rook whimpered, resuming his squirming and attempts at freedom before the rag met the first of his open wounds. A stifled scream left his throat as the alcohol seeped into his injuries.

 

John was amused by the response, using slow circular motions to scrub the dried and crusted blood away from his first carving. He poured a little more of the liquid onto the rag and repeated it for Pride and then finally Wrath. He took his sweet time with wrath, watching Rook’s hand fight the tape for freedom. Afterwards, he draped the cloth over the raw skin bound by the ropes, drizzled a little bit of the liquid to clean those fresh wounds and delivering Rook into his own little ring of hell. He was teary eyed, a growl edged on his lips but failed to fall free. He gave a shuddering breath and sank back into the chair with an air of defeat. John gave a hum of approval, knowing this was only the first step to a long journey. The beginning to the end as Joseph had ordained.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up. Each chapter is going to have something to do with a different herald. First was John, the second is Jacob then the next is Faith. 
> 
> Encase it isn't clear either, the first half is present day and the second half (where Jasper is referred to as Rook) is in the past.
> 
> Just so there is no confusion. 
> 
> Alright, thank you all for your support so far. It really means a lot to me. Thank you for the kudos and the comments. ^.^

It was a flurry of movement, the rush of feet storming through the woods. The howl of judges and gunfire fading out in the distance as Staci ran on. He managed to get away, to get as far away from that accursed song of Jacob's before it could pull him back. The Herald let out his best dogs to recapture the lone deputy and they were hot on his heels for the first half mile, but Staci was strong. He was stronger than the rest. He'd faced trial after trial, culled the herd at a moment's notice and ran until his legs threatened to break. Until muscles sang an agonizing tune and blood was all he could hear, rushing like a canyon flood during monsoon season, a burst dam through his veins, filling his thundering heart. He ran until he could no longer hear Peggies or Judges.

  
  
He ran through the thickest and steepest parts of the mountainous terrain, where ATV's and choppers couldn't find him. Where only the best trackers would pick up his trail. He ran like night was the cloak wrapped around his body and the Henbane was so close to freedom, he could taste that cloying scent of bliss already. He needed to get to the jail, to Sheriff Whitehorse and the others.

  
  
When his legs threatened to buckle, he stopped to catch his breath. To fill his aching lungs with the cool night air. Feel them constrict, tight and protesting against the effort. His head swam dizzyingly, trying to catch up to his surroundings. Through the thundering rush of his heart, he heard the subtle crack of brush underfoot. He spun around, nearly losing his balance as fingers gripped his filched weapon. A rifle already well armed with bliss bullets, meant to take him down. Now he would turn them back on any offending peggies.

  
  
He leveled the gun on the dark silhouette as it emerged from the tree line. The bright red flannel was a stark contrast to the eerie grey light filtering through the canopy. The thick heavy collar was bared for all the world to see just who was pulling these puppet strings. A bow cresting his grip, arrow knocked at the ready but aimed nowhere near Staci. The mournful look in the ex-deputy's eyes was reflected in Staci's own. Staci knew what Jacob had put the other through. He knew the training had been worse than his own, the conditioning paired with John's unholy confessions and whatever else religious brainwashing had been done. It was no wonder Jasper had succumb to their hands. Of course, a painful fucking irony that Jacob would send their new pet after Staci.

  
  
His hands shook as he gripped the rifle harder. He didn't want to pull the trigger, not on his colleague and not like this. It would be easier, if Jasper was attacking him, trying to shoot him or do him some form of harm but all he did was stand there. The darkness curling around his features and giving light to haunting blue eyes. The hollow light behind them was only magnified in the shrapnel beams of moonlight, casting depth over his features. Or maybe it was the starvation Jacob had put them through, the way he did for everyone else. Jasper was no exception there, either. His proud and broad stature had withered away, just like Staci's. They were husks of their former selves, whittled away by Jacob's attentive hands until they were nothing more then fragile puppets dancing at the ends of his fingertips, acting on his whims.

  
  
"Is this how it's going to be?" Staci asked, staring the man down. Jasper's silence prevailed, as it always did. Staci knew it would, no matter what the Seeds did to him, no one would ever get him to talk. It only unnerved the deputy more, made him want to scream and shout, made him want to grab him by his shirt, fists curled up in the material and shake the sense back into him. To throw him to the ground and break knuckles against flesh until they were both raw and empty and helpless. He was angry, about all of this.

  
  
The first step towards him caused Staci to jump, his fingers fumbled with the rifle until it was raised to his chest. "Stay back." He warned, his own feet giving like a force field pressed towards him, forcing him to step back. Jasper's free hand lifted to touch the rifle, fingers curling around the barrel end and adjusting the position so it was over his heart. A flicker of sadness cast over his eyes before it muted like the rest of him. His fingers trailed down along the body until it lingered between the stock and the chamber. They dropped down to Staci's wrist, tracing back towards himself until his fingers overlapped Staci's. The deputy frowned, confusion shading his expression, lips parted to expand on his thoughts. "What are you-" Jasper pressed Staci's index finger over the trigger, lightly, not enough to set it off but enough for the deputy to know what was being asked. "No. I'm not doing this. You can come with me. We can get out of here together. We can find help-"

  
  
Jasper just shook his head, a silent sigh rushing past shaky lips. He offered the deputy a weak smile and pressed against the finger. Staci didn't fight it. Didn't have the chance to before the soft _shink_ of the bullet left the barrel and buried into the top layers of Jasper's flesh. He staggered back, eyes fluttering weakly as the Bliss took control. His hands reached out for purchase, for something that would break his fall only to catch an outstretched arm. Staci helped him as he lowered to the ground, laying him out in the damp foliage and decaying forest floor.

  
  
"I'll come back for you, okay? Just...fuck...hang in there a bit longer." Staci assured, the soft howls of wolves in the distance stirred shivers of warning down his spine. He bit his bottom lip until he could taste blood. Heard the fading echoes of machinery filtering through the silence of the night. He had to keep moving. One last look to Jasper and he was reassured that the ex-deputy was out like a light. The bliss working its way into his mind and taking what little self control he had left. Staci fled, knowing Jacob's men would come and collect the Seed's pet. He knew Jasper would pay dearly for this mistake and that left the bitter burn of bile easing up his throat. The regret was already turning knots in his stomach but he knew there was little he could do now. He's been where Jasper is standing, he knows that terrible feeling inside when his actions are no longer his own and he is helpless to fight it. This was for the best. It was the only way it could go without either of their deaths in the process. That thought didn't make him feel any better.

 

* * *

 

 

Rook's first real taste of Jacob’s conditioning had been soon after John relinquished his hold on the deputy and shipped him to the Whitetail Mountains. John had left his mark carved across the canvas of his flesh, had reminded him of his sins and left him raw and trembling with memories he did not wish to relive. It was time that his weakness be squashed and he be made strong again. Built back up by firm hands and hard work. John had done the first part but Jacob had easily taken the reigns and deposited the mute into a cage of his own. To wallow in silence as days bled together and hunger became a painful gnawing inside. It was debilitating and exhausting, putting him into a delirium as he crawled from one end of the cage to the next, watching the peggies with glossy eyes like a zoo animal.

 

They would stop and prod at him occasionally to see if he was dead or not, usually startled by the sudden burst of life on his end. Sometimes Rook wouldn’t even move, no matter how hard they’d prod him to force him to respond. At these times, Jacob would come down and take a look at his pet. He’d walk into the cage with unguarded ease, his predatory prowess exuded in every corner of the compound as everyone watched from a distance. The soldier would nudge him with a boot at first, say his name and receive only the briefest fluttering of eyes from feverish features. Skin sweat soaked, the dark mess of hair was pasted to his forehead and down the nape of his neck, curling in greasy tendrils. His clothing clung to him like a sickening second skin, lips cracked, glued together by the dried blood pressed between them.

 

“Come on, pet.” Jacob said as he gripped the deputy’s shoulders and hoisted him upright. His body sagged against the large hands bracing his back. Head lolled forward with a dead sort of weight, hands resting limp on either side of him. He snapped his fingers next to his ears, gaining a soft grunt in response. He shook him gently, hand reached back behind him towards the uniformed figure lingering on the edges. The badge was smudged and obscured, nowhere near the polished shine of protocol. “Peaches.” The soldier growled out before the silver canteen was pressed into his grasp. He held it up to Rook’s lips, dribbling a little bit at first, just enough to entice the deputy’s survival instincts. It worked as lips pried apart, tongue searching for the cool liquid as his head tipped back more. Eyes opened only a fraction, still clouded and unfocused but it was something.

 

“There you go. It’s only instinct. Your brain is reduced to the most basic settings it can function on. Pure, raw, survival.” Normally Jacob would go on another little spiel, another insightful lecture on life and survival and primal instincts but he knew his captive wouldn’t hear him. He wouldn’t make any sense of what was being said which would be counterproductive to even try. A little bit of water, just enough to keep him from being sick or dying on them, and the soldier laid him back down on the floor of the cage. He observed his pet for a moment longer before handing the canteen back to Deputy Pratt and left the cage, letting Staci lock it back up and trail behind him to the next task at hand.

 

Two more days and Rook found himself coming to. Well, he couldn’t exactly call it that. He had been submerged into another one of Jacob’s conditioning trials, battling against other captives for the chance of survival. His body was running on autopilot. His hands moving before he could command them, sliding bullets into the chambers, squeezing the trigger, shoulder cushioning the recoil, stock pressed into the crook until it was painful. His gaunt frame stalking around corners, sweeping clear paths. Bodies are flung out of the shadows at him, eyes wide and wild, lips parted in a death scream as lead peppers their torsos. He’s running on reflex, point, shoot, repeat. Point, shoot, repeat. In the back of his head, a voice growled to keep moving. To keep advancing. _Cull the herd._

 

He ran that rat race until his knees buckled, scrambling and scrapping with a target. Their body clad in the forest green tones of the whitetail militia but the training made them something else. Something feral and inhuman. They ran out of bullets and were left with fists and sheer will, rolling and tossing about on the floor until Rook took the gun stock to their skull. Bringing it down, again and again until blood and brain matter splattered the ground. Little white shrapnel bits of bone left scattered like broken jigsaw pieces to a puzzle that should have been complete. It should have stayed complete, holding the picture of life within its confines. But Rook knew. He knew it was no longer the same. It was no longer beautiful and precious. It was tainted and grisly, a twisted scenery of bloodshed and death. A fiery hatred bred from abuse and fear. It was a plague, an infection that had consumed them all.

 

He felt his stomach roll, the empty contents dry heaving to produce something to evict but nothing came. His clothing was soiled in sweat and blood, sticky against his skin. The evidence of his misdeeds. His sins. His _wrath._ He crawled on all fours, trying to get away from the body until his arms gave out and he rolled over onto his back. His eyes glossy as he gazed up at the muted rosy tones that obscured his vision. The steady buzz of old fluorescent lights humming along and flickering every few seconds. His hands rubbed at the tacky residue on his skin, trying to scrub it clean but he only succeeded in smearing it further, spreading it across his body in congealed layers. A choked sound formed in his throat, frustration and helplessness. He gritted his teeth, took shuddering breaths to disband the painful twisting and the shame that coiled within.

 

“Not bad.” The voice came over the shaky humming in his ears, the thundering rush of his own blood kicking up and overshadowing it. Rook’s eyes drifted, searching the room until he found the silhouette leaned lazily against the doorway. Jacob’s arms were crossed, a smirk tilted up on his lips as he inspected the mess. “There’s room for improvement.” He sounded far too pleased at that.

 

Rook should have been happy. Those words meant survival. Meant he got to live another day. He couldn’t help the sudden stabbing pain in his chest as he struggled for breath. A handful of peggies entered to start removing the bodies from the room. A pair had approached Rook to haul him back to his cage, the scraggly appearances closing the space between him made his breathing an even greater struggle. A sharp pain became a sudden explosion of panic as he lunged with what little strength he had left. A growl on his lips, visceral and frenzied as hands wrapped around the first peggies’ throat, squeezing until the man’s face went red and eyes started to bulge.

 

He gritted his teeth in a snarl, feeling their unkempt fingers digging into his shoulders and forearms, grappling for some form of purchase to fight back. The second peggy was too stunned at first before they jumped in, attempting to pry him off of them. They resorted to taking the butt of their gun to the back of Rook's head, knocking him unconscious as his body crumpled and toppled over. More guards were called in but Jacob remained unmoving, watching with a twisted form of satisfaction as his new pet was carried out like a drunken hindrance. He was pleased, to say the least, but his approval would come with hard consequences. It just meant he needed to come at his pet harder. To push them to their limits until they’re on the verge of crumbling. Only then can they be built back up. “Peaches!” Jacob called, the shuffling of boots on grimy floors stirred down the hall as Staci came from a nearby room, overseeing the extrication of the other bodies that occupied the rooms and halls.

 

He presented himself before the soldier, head tilted down in a submissive posture of respect, clipboard gripped between his fingers with names of all the subjects used during this session. More than half were checked off with red ink already. “Prepare the next batch. We’re doing another run as soon as that Deputy friend of yours wakes up.” Staci nodded, waiting until Jacob dismissed him with the subtle wave of his hand. When it came, he turned on his heels and hurried down the hall, already relaying orders to other peggies to follow him to the cages in the courtyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't forget to leave kudos and commentary below to continue showing your support and letting me know what you like or if you have any questions. Please feel free. Or if you have theories, thoughts, headcanons, ideas. I'm more then happy to listen. Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

He hated it. He hated it all. So so much. He merely tolerated it because Jacob made it a little more bearable to be around. Jasper heaved a heavy sigh, shaking his head as he considered the items in his front passenger seat, his tired blue eyes scanning out over the expanse of bliss fields scattered across the Henbane. He hated that damn flower so much, he was tempted to burn it all down himself. But he didn’t. He knew it was needed. That he was the only one in this whole damn county literally allergic to the shit, was beyond him. Allergic was a light title for what this shit did to him in the worst of ways. It knocked him down for the count for an entire week the last time he took a bliss bullet. Three days of dead sleep, nightmare fueled hallucinations and it followed up with vicious sickness which only worsened his already starved and staggering physical state. Jacob was at odds about it. He wanted to be mad at Jasper, for losing Staci in the woods but considered the Bliss bullet to be punishment enough for the time being. Well, until this little task came about. Seems his punishment wasn’t finished yet.

 

He sniffled, feeling the itchy sensation of the pollen already making it into his nostrils. He rubbed at his nose quickly to disband the creeping itch and pulled the military grade gas mask on over his features. He tucked his hair back out of the way and ensured the seal was tight, pulling the straps tight until it squeezed his scalp uncomfortably. He adjusted his gloves and pulled his sleeves down to lessen the pollen to skin contact, buttoning up his red flannel and adjusting the bandana tucked around his throat. He did a last long once over of himself, cursed the day and grabbed his bow from the side seat. He checked his sidearm, looking over the additional clip he set aside and tucked that into his pocket where it’d be in easy reach. He took a long deep breath, making for certain that the mask was working before getting out of the truck.

 

His radio was clipped to his belt, the speaker tuned up loud so he could hear it. There was no reason for him to need it, since he didn’t radio back. They had a system set up where he answered with two clicks of the mic to show he received the message and understood. He meandered towards the main section of bliss fields where a new crop of Angels stood around with gardening tools in hand. They were mindlessly idle, digging into the dirt in small patches, forcing Jasper to move them around as they worked so they didn’t dig trenches instead of crop rows. He patrolled the exterior of the crops and fields, dodging the Angels whenever he could. They creeped him out on a good day and for some odd reason, they were entranced by him even now. He assumed it may have something to do with the mask but it caused them to trail after him like eager sheep towards their shepherd. He had to keep adjusting them back to their positions so they were working and not just idly grasping at him and clinging to him with grubby clumsy fingers.

 

Normally there were other peggies around to help but they had been rerouted to defend a series of crops lining the river between the Jail and Moonflower Trailer park. There was Cougar movements all along that area and several crops had already bit the dust at the end of a molotov treatment. He was further into the interior of the Henbane region, closer to Angel’s Peak so he didn’t necessarily have to fret about resistance attacks. He spent several hours rotating the angels around the crops, stopping occasionally to remove their muzzles and ensure they were getting water. He’d bring them over in pairs to where a sprinkler system was and they’d lean down to get a drink from the spray. It helped cool their sun scorched skin and washed some of the Bliss pollen off of them in the process though he wasn’t sure that really mattered anymore with how far gone they were. He’d fix their muzzles and set them back at a new spot and rotate around the group.

 

His own thirst was showing itself about mid day but he didn’t dare take his mask off. Not until he was safely tucked away in his truck and on the other side of the river, whether that be in the Whitetails or the Valley, he didn’t care. As long as it was far away from the Bliss. He trudged on, helping the Angels with their work and tending to the bliss flowers himself. He helped with planting new sprouts and trimming dead pieces from the leaves and checking for insect or animal related damage.

 

As the afternoon tilted over to evening, he herded the angels over towards the sprinklers for another drink, removing their muzzles as they leaned down and lapped up the water from the spouts. He watched over them before fixing them up and sending them back out. He was waiting for the next group of peggies to come and pick them all up. He checked the time on his watch, giving it a tired sigh as the group appeared to be running late. He wasn’t ordered to stay here until nightfall but from the looks of it, he’ll have to worry about the wildlife soon as the sun inched closer to setting. Faith’s people were never punctual. Whereas John and Jacob’s were conditioned to run smoothly and on time at all times.

 

He shifted the material of the bandana around his neck, feeling his clothing already sticking to him with sweat, soaked completely through and saturated in pollen. He’d need all of it washed if he was ever going to wear it again. He sighed as he heard the idle rumble of vehicles coming up the drive, the roar of ATV’s and several picks ups trailing behind. A typical peggy convoy if there ever was one. He started gathering the angels up, which wasn’t hard as they congregated around him like dazed sheep. Hands were all over him, pawing at his pollen stained clothing and grasping dull fingers at his mask. He had to grip the mouthpiece tightly to keep it from accidentally being knocked off. He shook off the hands catching at his back and tugging lightly on his bow.

 

He hissed through clenched teeth when one angel snagged the long sweaty curling locks of raven hair. It came out in fitful tuffs from the straps of the mask, looking wayward and wild. He clapped his hands loudly to get their attention, their heads craned up as pale eyes turned to him. The pupils were tiny points, a terrifying gaze when he first encountered them but now he was accustomed to it. Herding the masses like a devoted little collie at the end of Faith’s fingertips, he had worked with the angels enough that it no longer bothered him. They were like giant toddlers if he was being honest. Giant, drugged up toddlers swinging hoes and shovels like cavemen do clubs.

 

The lights of the vehicles cast over them before he had a chance to get a good look at their approach. He never heard the trucks slow down. In fact, as they made it up the drive, he heard the engine accelerate. A red warning bell chimed in the back of his mind as he shoved a few of the angel’s away. Two clung to him from behind as he toppled out of the path, falling into a cluster heap as the pick up truck plowed three of the mindless bodies down, driving through one of the patches of bliss, tires tearing it up out of the ground in the process. Jasper struggled to get free as the angels clamored at him. There was static from his radio as messages railed over the line, a very late warning from a breathless peggy that the Resistance made it through their line and charged headlong into the fray. The lower fields were already burning as they dozed through each one, setting it a flame and running down any stray peggies with their trucks before heading on up the road to the next target.

 

It took quite a bit of effort and shamelessly throwing a few angels around to get free, his hand dropping to his side arm as he drew his 1911 and started putting lead in bodies with deadly precision. Two to the chest or one to the head. He swept from side to side, shooting the passengers that jumped out to use the truck for cover. He worked his way around the tail end, gunning down a few stragglers when an ATV came bounding over a hill side and another pick up came roaring up the drive, running an intersection where Jasper was caught right in the middle. His back to the pick up as he moved to get free, hiking up and over the side of the tail bed as they collided. The driver of the ATV bashed their head against the side of the truck, blood smeared across the white exterior. The driver of the other truck was only marginally scraped up and recovered quickly.

 

Jasper had been thrown into the tool bed and landed hard with a pained gasp. The air was punched out of his chest, leaving him rasping to recover it. A sharp pain pulled and stabbed every time he attempted to move, reaching to recover his handgun, reaching blindly. His eyes stung and blurred out, making it hard to focus. He struggled to regain his bearings, a pain singing agony at the back of his head, a tingly heat running down his spine, curling and nestling in his mid back. His fingers fumbled for the trigger as he turned to shoot at the driver, now approaching the opposite side of the truck to reach him. It took six shots before Jasper finally clipped the assailant and another two to finish them off.

 

Jasper pulled himself over the edge of the truck, lost his balance and slammed down hard in the dirt. He groaned, writhing in the dust as he coughed. The burn of bile mingled with the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. He rasped for air, feeling all too claustrophobic in his mask. Fingers clawed at the equipment, the voice in the back of his head chastising him, telling him no. He was desperate for air, the burning in his chest was too much. He felt like he was going to burst or go mad holding it in. He forced himself to move, the lingering angels left roaming the field congregated back around him like cattle, shuffling around him, like a protective wall as he crawled across the near impossible expanse of dirt to his truck. It wasn’t that far away but crawling felt like eternity.

 

He could weep with tears of joy by the time his gloved fingers reached the door, if his eyes weren’t already trailing tears from other irritants. He fumbled with the hand, fighting the angels to get back and give him space as he climbed into the driver’s side seat. He draped himself across the bench and pulled the door shut behind himself. He didn’t have the energy to fuss with the locks and was certain the angels would defend him. He could see their silhouettes roaming around the edges of the vehicle like zombified guard dogs. His fingers scrambled to pry the mask off, huffing in painful breaths of fresh air. In the fading daylight, he could see the blood staining the inside of his mask now, felt the tacky sensation matting his hair in globs and mingling with the dust and dirt he crawled through. He let the mask drop to the side and reached for his radio. He clicked the mic multiple times, frenzied and without pattern. He heard Faith come over the radio but it was nothing but static. Just a messy buzz of words and broken syllables. He heard his name and mention of a signal. _Signal?_ He was confused.

 

His mind blanking out on what she meant as he looked around. His eyes caught the glove box and a small voice prodded his mind towards it. His hands were clumsy as they pried it open, watching the items spill out. Napkins, dew rags, some old protein bars that were probably stale, papers to junk, then he saw it. The little orange pistol looking device. He reached for the handgun, feeling tiny in his large hands as he checked the flare inside it. It was still good, luckily. He rolled the window down, fighting the crank as he positioned himself more upright, fighting the dizziness the sudden swell of pain threw him into. He raised the gun to hang out the window and fired the flare up into the night. It soared like a bright red beacon, exploding fantastically like a firework and alerting every peggy in the region to his whereabouts. He cranked the window shut to keep the bliss pollen out. The grunts and growls of the angels faded with it as he sank back into the seat, eyes closing as he focused on breathing. Focused on doing it with the least amount of pain.

  
  


* * *

 

 

It had taken nearly a month for Jacob to train Rook to be the perfect soldier. He had put him through rigorous trials over and over, forcing him into levels of exhaustion that were beyond human comprehension. His every waking moment was spent running trials or fending off the pains of starvation. Everything blurred together like a rose tinted fever dream, montaged by that accursed fucking song of Jacob’s. A tune that stirred haunting shadows in his mind. Images of wolves snarling at the bars of his cage, baring their teeth in warning, reminding him of his place in the food chain. Rook could no longer tell the difference between what was in his head and what was reality. Jacob paraded through both realms as if he belonged there. As if they were both of his own personal making and he was damn proud of that fact.

 

Afterwards, Jacob spent an additional week building his broken pup back up from the brink and giving him purpose amidst his ranks. He mostly followed Jacob around, learning how they run things and how procedures are carried out. Its mostly militarized which fit Jacob’s niche and worked perfectly for his pup. It gave him a position to nestle into and fortify himself in but it didn’t last long as the final trek of his journey had yet to be carried out and before long, he was sent off with the newest batch of recruits to the Henbane. All was well for the first couple days until Faith blew bliss into his face. They were on their way to the final set of trials, for Rook to prove his loyalty and his devotion to Eden’s Gate and the Father. To understand Joseph’s word and his views, when Rook broke down. He couldn’t make sense of his surroundings, ending up scattered and visibly afraid. The priestesses attempted to corral him but it was futile. He fled from their approach, attacked one of the nearest peggies and commandeered a weapon. They tried to stop him, to bring him down. Even Faith herself had attempted to coax him back to her but it wasn’t working. She quickly realized the problem was in the bliss. They were helpless to watch as Rook tore through several guards and bypassed a herd of angels.

 

Everywhere Rook looked it was shadows and tangles of beasts bowing and rising like the tides, casting over him. Eyes digging into him, boring through his soul and pinning him down. Hands like claws reaching out, sinking their hooks into his flesh, ripping and tearing until there was nothing left but raw nerves and  blood. So much blood. The rivers ran with it, congealed islands cropping up in the lakes, throbbing flesh, pulsating with their own heartbeat, all of them rhythmic and syncing with his own pounding in his chest. Pale ghostly eyes haunted him like hundreds of moons, witnessing his sins, his atrocities. They point out the blood on his hands, prod him back into the ditches of mass graves until he loses his balance and is falling, tumbling in among the corpses. The bodies of people he put here, the dead that have fallen at his hands. He’s gasping, fighting for breath, fighting for freedom, clawing through decaying flesh and gaunt hollow faces. Faces with no features, just empty blackened pits, charred by fire and devouring the world around them. Mouths hung open in eternal screams, wailing agony and lamenting for their sins. They call to him, screaming his name to the heavens and damning him to hell.

 

He was running on autopilot, stumbling around, falling in the dips and uneven terrain, scrambling across the dust and dirt. He threw himself into the river and nearly drowned fighting the undercurrents, his body kept moving, mumbling incoherently, grunting and whimpering. He ran from anyone that approached, making his way from the Henbane towards the Whitetails, trudging through the dense forest and rocky mountain ravines between paths and outcroppings. He managed to elude any wildlife on the path, making his way towards the Veteran’s Center, delirious and completely out of his mind. He stalked the exterior. Any time one of the peggies or even the Chosen would approach, he would recede back to the woods and disappear into the brush like a spooked animal. If anything, it was like watching an Angel. The mindless actions, the lumbering and sluggish appearance, the only difference was he was running on pure raw instinct. His most primal needs were being met and carried out.

 

Rook wandered for an entire day and another whole night before Jacob made it back to the center to see what was happening. Faith had alerted them all to the missing deputy and they were completely surprised to find him there. The soldier ordered his men away and approached slowly, speaking in a low and careful tone. The same silky voice he always used when training his soldiers. When they culled the herd. “Come here pup.” Jacob commanded, clear and concise.

 

Rook was hunkered down in the underbrush, watching the compound with dazed eyes, his head snapping around at the slightest sounds. A bird in the branches above, a mouse in the underbrush, the whisper of the wind rustling the collar of his jacket. His attention was split and spread thin between all of these sounds, conflicting and demanding absolute attention. Jacob had to fight with them, to demand Rook’s gaze. He whistled, a slice of sound through the air that had his head whipping around like a hunting dog to his master. His expression more perked as he took in the camo fatigues and the scruffy hard exterior of the soldier. “You came home, right pup? You know right where you belong.” He closed the space between them with careful steps. Rook gripped the rifle he was carrying closer to his chest. It was banged all to hell and appeared to be empty. Looked more like he used it to beat something  or someone off. The stock was cracked and busted, the strap was frayed and had teeth marks in it. The clip was absent and the interior was packed with dirt and mud, like he had crawled in the dirt with it or tossed it in the mud a few times. Even the barrel was worse for wear. Jacob decided to ignore that, seeing as the deputy was high out of his mind right now.

 

“Ssshhh.” He hushed, taking a step forward, one hand reached out expectantly. His gaze fixed on Rook’s pale blue hues, watching the gears turn in his head as he considered what was being asked of him. He watched the deputy’s fingers twitch on the weapon, observed his conflicted expression before he finally loosened his hold and handed it over. It was a clumsy gesture, as was everything about Rook in this moment. Jacob took the damaged rifle and held it off to the side before easing the strap over his shoulder and letting it nestle against his back. He held his hand back out towards the deputy, a subtle waving motion that urged him closer. Rook remained crouched, shifting with uncertainty on his feet and leaning his shoulder against one of the trees he’d been hiding behind. “Come on pup. Time to go home.”

 

The foggy orbs gazed up at him, meeting the icy blue hues of the soldier’s. Jacob gave a nod of affirmation towards the questioning look. He watched fingers clench and unclench nervously before Rook finally pushed himself to his feet. His head dropped into an anxious form of submission. Jacob despised weakness but he knew this wasn’t the deputy’s doing. It was out of his control. It was the bliss and the bliss makes men weak. It makes them vulnerable and open for influence. His pup was strong. He made sure of that. A vice grip on the deputy’s shoulder kept him close by his side, ensuring he wouldn’t run off again and steered him back to the compound. Rook was apprehensive at the gates, eyeing all the men that swarmed the courtyard like ants busying about the colony. He was pale, his clothing in disarray and ruined beyond any form of help.

 

It took a hell of a time to get him past all the people and inside, fighting Jacob’s hold to flee or attack. His instincts were running amok, his fight and flight response keyed up beyond rationality. As Rook came down from the drug, he was clawing at his own skin, digging nails into flesh and raking across it like something was wrong, as if insects were crawling beneath the surface. He writhed and curled up then dug deeper, leaving long red tracks in their wake until Jacob was forced to restrain him. The following days fluctuated between manic self-mutilation, a recurring fever and his body trying to purge the bliss out of his system like a sickness. He was boneless, exhausted, dehydrated and in agony by the time he finally came out of it. He had vicious night terrors that left him screaming at the top of his lungs and he was twitchy and unstable during the day.

 

In the end, when he finally regained his wits about him, he was offered two days to recoup followed by a solid week of trials and training. Jacob wanted to instill that conditioning all over again and ensure Rook remained obedient. He was disappointed, of course. That was a given, but he was equally as impressed that when in a tight spot, his pup found his way home. He killed anything and anyone that got in between him and Jacob, to make it back where he belonged, leaving a trail of bodies for miles along the way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I was kind of stuck on how to exactly start this chapter and how to write Joseph and Faith since this will be my first time officially writing both of them. I've been working on my Hope County collection which is a collection of one-shots with Jasper and the rest of the cast of Hope County as well as his adopted brother, Angelo, that loosely ties to this universe for this story. If you love this story, check out my Hope County piece. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Jasper started to stir to life as warm hands trailed over his bare skin. A tight material constricted around his torso, being pulled and shifted in different directions before the alternating compressing sensation stilled to a constant pressure. His eyes were bleary as he blinked them into focus, meeting a gaze of tinted yellow shades and blue eyes morphed green, far too close for comfort. He was given a start that was met with soft hushing. Fingers raised to caress the sides of the mute’s face, meeting his weary blue orbs as he spoke. “Hold still my child. You have broken ribs. You need to take it easy or else they’ll get worse.”

 

Jasper gave a slow nod of understanding which seemed to meet Joseph’s studious approval as he turned his eyes back to fixing the compressive fabric. The ex-deputy realized he wasn’t wearing his shirt, only a fresh pair of sweatpants and his collar. Fingers brushed through his hair from a different angle, making the ex-deputy crane his neck to see Faith sitting adjacent to his position. It took a moment for him to realize he was lying in someone’s bed. It was small, nothing bigger than a bunk bed if he was being honest. It was comfortable, caressing his body in the sore spots and alleviating the aches the best it could. The sweet smile the girl flashed him made something inside him shift with a nervous energy. There was a flash of hurt in her eyes, the fingers stilling in their combing motions before she pushed it aside and withdrew her touch. He offered a small smile of apology but it was weak and faltering, twisted by a wince as Joseph pressed a tender spot. “My apologies.” He murmured before sitting upright. “There. You’ll need to get some rest. Faith?”

 

“I’ll keep an eye on him.” She murmured, watching as Joseph bent over to the floor beside the bed, raising a white metal basin with water in it. It was old, dinged up with time and use, a white wash rag hung over the color faded edge where the paint was worn away.

 

She held her hands out towards him expectantly. “I can do it Father.” Joseph’s gaze shifted slowly towards Jasper as if seeking his permission. There was no protest to the action, so he conceded and handed the bowl over.

 

“Get some sleep, my child.” He bid before departing through the adjacent doorway. The room was small, cramped with little space for furniture. It was spartan aside from a side table, a single chair that appeared to have been brought in for Faith to sit on. Behind her was a small window with a tiny white vase resting in it. A purple wildflower rose up out of it, a speck of color in a room full of dull whites and greys.

 

“We need to get you cleaned up. You were covered in Bliss pollen when we found you.” Jasper’s features scrunched up in confusion as he tried to recall his memories. “The signal you sent up helped a lot. The angels were pacing around your truck, keeping you safe, you know. They feel safe around you.” She murmured in his ear as she swiped the damp cool cloth across his cheek, washing his face in careful and attentive motions. “They sense the calm inside you. The haven you represent. When your wrath isn’t a thunderstorm in your heart, it becomes a state of bliss without influence.” Jasper wasn’t entirely sure rather that was a compliment or not. To be honest, he’s had more than enough of bliss for one lifetime. He made a soft sniffling sound as she damped the rag into the basin, the water taking a slightly yellowish color with every swipe and rinse. She worked around his face, wiping over the tender spot above his temple where skin had been cut and bruised by his mask. He had another cut higher up in the edge of his hairline but it was tiny and nothing to fret over.

 

Her careful hands worked down to his neck and shoulders, swiping carefully around every crook and edge, she was nothing if not thorough about her work. She rinsed the rag out again, watching the dandelion yellow coloring spread and become more prominent before she moved lower. She skipped over the bandaged area and dropped her hand to his hips and stomach. Jasper shivered at the damp touch, giving a shaky breath as his eyes drifted shut. It felt good. The soft touches, the gentle patting of the rag as it cleaned the evidence of his mission from his skin. “You were a very good boy today.” She murmured into his ear. “You kept the bliss fields safe.” Her praise was an odd lull to his senses. Her breath warm against the cool dampness on his neck, ghosting over the skin. The rag drifted in slow circular motions across his abdomen, trailing along the hem of his sweatpants.

 

She hummed softly, a soothing melody that picked up along the fringes of his mind and swayed him into a shaded sense of security. The warm fingertips trailing along his skin, the damp rag no longer present as her fingers spread and splayed in gentle probing motions. She felt along the tender spots, the dark kiss of bruises and the older scars that blotched and marred once pristine sun kissed flesh. They traced over the etchings of Sloth in his flesh, outlining every line and curve, feeling the rise of pink healed skin around it. She frowned before releasing a soft sigh. She replaced the sympathy in her expression with something warmer, a gentle melody resonated in her throat as her fingers massaged slowly over the sore areas, releasing the tendrils of coiled muscle and tension that nestled deep inside the ex-deputy.

 

She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, felt the tension leaking out of his body as he sank into the cushion of the mattress. She smiled softly, continuing the soft humming as she curled her fingers into his hair, feeling the wispy strands hook around her knuckles as she bent them. Joseph had washed the pollen out of their pet’s hair when he exchanged the clothing for something cleaner. It was quick, before the mask was removed from Jasper’s face. The item had been stained and crusted with blood, dripping into the dark raven locks, matting it and making it look far worse than it really was. She had seen the relief flood their Father’s features to find the injuries weren’t severe. The pain in his eyes lingered, knowing the cause of the problems was the sinners that refused to kneel before the truth of their coming demise.

 

She continued her idle motions until she was certain the mute had fallen asleep. A genuine smile spread across her fair features as she leaned down, tucking the long caramel strands of her own hair out of the way so as not to wake him. Her lips pressed a gentle and fleeting touch to his forehead, parting slowly as she unwound herself from his side and slipped away with all the grace of the wind. Not even the old wooden boards gave sound beneath her dainty footsteps.

  
  
  


 

 

When Jasper came to once more, it had been less pleasant then the first time. An aching roll of his stomach had him jolt in the bed. A tangle of blankets had wrapped around his legs, making it hard for him to free himself. A groan falling from his lips as the slightest motion upset the pinching pain in his chest but the laying position made him feel frantic, suffocating almost. He gasped for fresh air, a heat clinging to his skin, sticky like fly paper. The sheets did little to help this problem, wrapped around him like a second unnecessary skin, cocooning him against his will. The darkness left him disoriented as he blinked furiously trying to recall his location. His eyes struggled to find purchase on the figures around the room. All unfamiliar shadows and bumps in the landscape, each a different shade of greys and black that blurred in his bleary vision.

 

Sweat beaded down his neck, hair plastered to his skin and curling with the dampness. "Sshhh.” A voice came, a movement in the corner of his eye had him jolt away only to regret it immediately after as the pain became sharp and jabbing in his chest cavity. He hissed through clenched teeth as gentle calloused hands touched his forearm then moved up to his shoulder. A firm grip to the space, sliding closer to the crook of his neck in careful rubbing motions. “Calm down my child.” The voice broke through the noise, the heaving panic as his breath seized and shuttered, not quite making it down his throat the way he wanted it to. His lungs burned, constricted and tight with their struggle.

 

 _‘Joseph?’_ Jasper thought, reaching a hand out towards the man in a desperate attempt to find ground. His legs writhed in the blankets, more frustrated and aggressive in his search for freedom. He was met with more soft hushes as those striking blue orbs broke through the graying light of the room. The mute’s vision starting to adjust to the light, or lack thereof.

 

“Breath.” He coaxed, one hand rising up to cup the side of Jasper’s face, his thumb stroking over his jaw and rising up to his cheekbones. It was a careful motion, slow in its action. The other hand carefully eased down to Jasper’s, the one clutching at the bedding in a death grip. His fingers coaxed Jasper’s free and pulled them into the preacher’s hold. His thumb rubbing the back of Jasper’s hand, slowly rolling over his knuckles and feeling the rougher skin where the gloves have chafed at it from abuse and overuse. “Breath slowly. Through your nose. Deep.” He coached.

 

He waited until Jasper complied, it was hard as he shuddered with shorter gasps, little starts that threatened to break into coughing fits. “Now exhale. Let it all out.” Each breath pulled on the deputy’s rib cage but it helped ease the tension in his stomach. The threat of upheaving wasn’t as dire as it had been but the heat was still unbearable. He wanted out of the bed. He wanted cool fresh air. He wanted to be outside not inside the stuffy cramped room where the air was stale and musty from the Montana humidity and the dry dirty wood boards. “Relax.” He hushed, feeling the weak squeeze of the deputy’s fingers around his hand.

 

Jasper felt the hand on his face withdraw and move down along his side. The sweat dampened sheets and bedding were unraveled from his limbs and freed him from the oppressive confines of fabric. He released a soft relieved sigh as the slight gust of cooler air stirred at Joseph’s motions. The hand trailed down, the subtle weight of the preacher’s body pressing against the edge of the mattress accompanied as he leaned over Jasper’s legs to pull the blankets the rest of the way. Jasper’s feet shifted, pressing to move over the edge of the mattress. He wanted up. He _needed_ to get up. Joseph didn’t stop him. He understood the motion and instead straightened up, the hand still clutching the mute’s switched, moving to brace his back and shoulder while his other hand secured around Jasper’s. He helped him sit up without agitating his wound, pulled him slowly to his feet. The flat of his feet drove a loud groan from the boards, the weight of his body pressing down as he straightened up the best he could, partially leaning against Joseph as he steadied.

 

“Bathroom?” Joseph asked him quietly but Jasper shook his head. He used his free hand, the dark mark of wrath outlined on his flesh as he rose two fingers and tilted it downwards, making walking motions with his fingers. Joseph nodded in understanding as he breathed a soft. “Okay.” He helped the mute maneuver through the doorway and out into the open room. It was only a little bit bigger than the bedroom, maybe twice the size. There were other doorways across from his, the soft orange glow of a light flickered from beneath the cracks in the doorways. On the right there was a dining room like set up and a fireplace along with what Jasper could only assume passed for a kitchen. On the left was a set of windows built into either side of a narrow doorway leading out onto a porch. Jasper turned in that direction, feeling the tight grasp of Joseph’s hand on his, a firm squeeze as if in warning before his own footsteps followed in resignation.

 

The air was much cooler outside, curling across his skin and lapping at the droplets of sweat sticking to his body. There were two steps off the porch before they would reach the grassy bottom. Jasper lowered himself onto the bottom two with Joseph’s strong arm bracing his weight until he was seated. The preacher stood over him quietly, casting his eyes around the quiet little compound. There was very little movement around the buildings aside from the occasional guard meandering back and forth, a rifle pressed to their chest as they paced boredly in the distance. The other smaller whitewashed buildings held little lights within the windows or were completely shrouded in darkness. In the distance a dog barked before receding to silence, the fog from the surrounding lake rolled up and over the dips of land, casting a sort of shield around the island, cutting it off from the rest of society’s prying eyes. It ensured peaceful quiet nights, with the pale early morning light cascading down like shrapnel through the veil, breaking up up until it full disperses, growing into a warm orange glow, fiery and blazing in the air around them.

 

For now, the grey nip of the air was all Jasper desired. The heat of the day could remain far off for all he cared. The fresh air soothed the sickness inside him, eased the burn of feverish features, cooling the flush on his skin. Joseph settled down onto the step beside him, sitting one up so his hip was even with Jasper’s shoulder. “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Joseph asked, his impossibly blue orbs gazing out with a new light in them, as if the fog of night had already cleared from them. It made Jasper wonder if he had woken the man from his sleep. His own deep blue hues gave a tired swivel around the scenery and nodded slowly. Joseph’s hand came to rest on the mute’s shoulder, a small squeeze of reassurance or a reminder of companionship, Jasper wasn’t certain.

 

“You’ve suffered, as we all must. You’ve seen the sins of this world, the trials that have set us upon this path.” He turned his gaze back upon Jasper. The grip on his shoulder tightened but only for a brief moment. A flicker of emotion crossed Joseph’s features but it was too quick and far too hard to decipher in the dim lighting. “Your heart still hesitates. You’re conflicted my child.”

 

He watched the confusion shroud Jasper’s face, a weary sort of creasing in the worn details. Joseph merely shook his head in slow dismissal. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all question a higher power. We find doubt in our heart and it clouds the path before us. Impairs judgement that should be swift and easy. You are not at fault for this, my child. You are young and still learning the truth.”

 

He moved the hand from his shoulder and carefully dropped it to touch over Jasper’s bandaged chest, fingers trailing over the marking of Pride, where it peaked up from beneath the bandages. It was an ugly scarring, a proclamation of Jasper’s darkest parts. Unlike Joseph and John who wore their sins shamelessly upon their flesh, for all to see, Jasper did not feel so secure in his. He didn’t like the reminder, the phantoms that clung to those dips and crevices where flesh was parted by sharp edges and pain. Where crimson rose like the tides, bubbling up with the fury in his heart and spilling over to stain the earth beneath him. He still had nightmares about his life, about the past and his actions, or failure to act. The helplessness that accompanied his first waking moments, with gasping breath. Fingers clutching and clawing at flesh to dig that panic out of his chest and free himself once and for all. It was not so easy for the mute, to atone for his past transgressions. To just carve it out. It was hardened and calloused, an armored tumor that defended against the most skilled scalpel.

 

The hand shifted on his chest, moving back to his shoulder and resting there, more comfortable now. More assured and at ease. The tension leaked away, a short reminder that he was here, now and not- _back there._ Where the world was dark and chaotic. Here was easy. He fit, like a puzzle piece into the greater picture Joseph preached about. He had a _purpose._ One he desired to fulfill. Like Joseph said, he was trying. _God, was he trying._

 

“Give it time. It will make sense soon enough.” Joseph bid, his hand patting Jasper on the shoulder as he released a quiet sigh.

 

They settled easily into the silence from that point on, watching the silvery hues shifted to dull grays then morph to a purple haze on the water. Soon it evolved, rising to low oranges and deeper more vivid reds as the sun crested over the mountains and gave light to the early morning. The dark windows lit up with lights and movement. People started to become active around the compound, soft greetings and idle conversations could be heard in the stillness, breaking the prior silence. More peggies and faithful milled about with their usual routines, a signal to both Joseph and Jasper, that it was time for them to head back inside. Joseph had a flock to lead and Jasper needed time to heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be sure to comment and kudos to let me know what you think.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter. I was having a little trouble getting my head around how to come at this one. The next chapter will be better. I promise! Please hang in there and thank you all for the support so far. It means a lot to me.

Jasper spent nearly a week laid up in the bed of the little shack, recuperating his injuries. Despite Joseph’s protests, he was eager to be up moving around again, to be doing something.  _ Anything.  _ As long as he wasn’t being a bed slug and a waste of resources. Faith would come and go, humming sweetly to him, sometimes bringing meals when Joseph was away with his flock. Other times it would be Joseph sitting by his side, with intense eyes studying him, investigating him as if he could easily peel back the layers of flesh and bone, leaving his soul bare for him to poke and prod at. 

 

It was an odd sight when Jacob came to collect his pup and take him back to the Veterans Center. Jasper was more than ecstatic to be anywhere but the little island compound, wallowing in his own form of madness between the two younger Seeds. Joseph’s quiet mumbling and whispering religious sentiments to him in the dark of night when the man found little could keep the coils of sleep tightly wound around his thoughts. He was restless and night brought with it, it’s own form of uncertainty. He’d spent many nights with Jacob, sitting up late in the quiet without speaking. Just the idle comforting companionship was enough for them both. A physical touch that was firm and guiding, not the wayward wispy interactions of the preacher or the wandering touch of the girl. Joseph always seemed to be searching for something in him while Faith’s was fretful and careful, observing what was instead of looking for what wasn’t. It left a static creeping along his skin in their absence.

 

The first stroke of a large warm palm in his hair had the mute stirring with excited anticipation. Eyes fluttering open to gaze up at the icy orbs, a small smile, predatory and hungry, the wolfish grin he had come to find peace in. It had him pushing upright, feet swinging over the edge of the bed as he reached for the freshly washed flannel jacket, draped over the adjacent chair. Joseph had scrubbed the pollen clean from the material, ensuring it wouldn’t contaminate the mute with bliss.

 

“Miss me?” Jacob let out a throaty laugh, a deep rumble that petered out as the hand rose to pat Jasper atop his head. “Thanks for looking out for him, Joe.” Jacob shifted, folding his arms against his chest as he looked towards the doorway where the preacher stood. His body was relaxed, leaning against the frame as he nodded slowly. 

 

“Certainly. He is welcome here anytime should the need arise.” Joseph offered, a warm smile accompanying the words as they danced across the air. “And Jasper?” 

 

The mute’s head flickered up towards the preacher, his weary eyes set upon the man, supplying his full attention. A small hint of deer in the headlights appeared in his eyes but it was smoothed over by the following words. “Do consider what we talked about. Let it into your heart, my child.” Jasper nodded his understanding. It appeased the preacher as he turned away to tend to his flock outside. The raucous chatter of gathering peggies flooded the open grassy space as they filed towards the church. A new sermon was to be had, a message to be delivered.

 

Jasper was relieved to know he and Jacob would be skipping on this one. The soldier placed a firm hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the doorway once he was ready. Jasper was still wearing the borrowed pair of sweatpants but the rest of his belongings from when he was picked up were neatly packed up and sitting in the back of Jacob’s truck outside. The ride back to the whitetails was long and quiet. There were no skirmishes on the roadways and the soft lull of music hummed from the speakers of the old pick up. It was a low volume, just enough to be comfortable as they trailed over the dirt roads and up the narrow trails leading back towards the center. Jasper’s eyes gazed out over the passing wildlife, spotting a handful of deer crossing the dirt two track and moving through a field to graze. Their heads popping up too stare as they passed before carrying on with their business, unphased by the traffic of humans. His gaze fell, a gentle fluttering of the eyes as the quiet scenery and the comfort inside the cab made him start to drift off.

 

“Hey.” Jacob spoke, startling Jasper out of his drowsy state and demanding all eyes on him. The mute looked expectantly, blinking the sluggish sensation from his eyes. The soldier’s gaze remained firm on the road, one hand resting on the wheel while the other leaned against the window rest. The soft wisps of red were swept to the side, disheveled by the slight wind, coming and going throughout the afternoon. Storm clouds already rolling into the sky above, a lingering threat for the coming days, trampling over the land with an oppressive humidity to follow. “When we get back, you’re going to be put on prisoner care. Got it?” There was a firm nod though Jasper wasn’t entirely sure the older man heard. He was answered by a hard grunt. “Good. You still have to earn your keep, pup. Wounded or no. There’s no room for the useless and the weak among our herd.”

 

Jasper wasn’t sure if an answer was required for that but he nodded his understanding nonetheless. Afterwards, the cab descended into silence once again until they reached the compound. He climbed out of the truck, mindful of his still healing and very broken ribs, wincing slightly at certain points trying not to lift his arm too high as he slipped out of the seat and landed his feet to the ground. His free hand reached to the bed of the truck to grab his things when Jacob whistled hard at him. He jolted, head snapping up fast enough to get whiplash as a hard stare was focused towards him. He shrank back away from the heavy bag of equipment as the soldier lifted it with ease, slinging it over his shoulder, his gaze expecting the mute to fall into step behind him. 

 

Jasper did not disappoint and quietly followed behind, his head dipped to avoid the stares of passing peggies and other Chosen milling about. The Judges growled and scratched at their cages, giving short barks at the noise. Mingling in between those beastial sounds were the voices of the weakened and the begging. A new batch of captives had been delivered in his absence. It wasn’t unusual for Jacob to have a steady stream of them but Jasper did a very good job of being away from the compound during there ‘initiation’ into the herd. He hated it, watching them beg and weep within the confines of the cages. The desperation and the sickness. It made his gut roll with the remembrance of his own time spent within those bars. The sickening trials he had to force his way through and the pain he endured. He was on the verge of total insanity by the time Jacob finally gave in and pulled him into the fold. It took him a long time just to get back to where he was now, in a more stable state of mind with more control over his own actions. 

 

Another sharp whistle pulled Jasper from his thoughts and had him rushing to keep up with the soldier. He was dropped off at his sleeping quarters which consisted of a very tiny, cramped shared room. Since Jasper didn’t sleep at night, he wasn’t entirely sure who he shared the space with. He would always prowl outside or wander off to spend the night in the woods surroundings. “Get changed then head down to the cages. A new batch is ready to be cycled out. I don’t want to see you slacking.” Jacob dropped the heavy bag onto the floor beside Jasper bed then turned on his heel to leave. Jasper let out a shaky sigh as he leaned his back against the wall. He was really feeling the strain all this activity was putting on him after a week of complacency at Joseph’s compound. Jasper figured that was the only reason Jacob was being so sharp with him now. Worried the vacation made him soft. That he might suddenly be expecting special treatment because he had a broken wing. Jasper would expect no such thing from Jacob of all people.

 

He turned towards his bag and rummaged around until he found his own clothes. He forewent the shirt, leaving the open flannel on for now and deciding he’d keep it buttoned up to hide his wound the best he could. He shimmied out of the sweats though and had a ten minute battle with his jeans. It was even more exhausting trying to put his belt on through the straps, cursing whoever it was that pulled the belt out in the first place. He situated his gun on his hip thigh where it was easily in reach and had his pocket knife clipped to his belt. His boots were another fight entirely but he managed. It took longer than was probably necessary and he could only imagine the look on Jacob’s face when he reports to his post, already dreading the outcome. He cringed at the thought, shoving his things under the bed and hurrying down to the cages. Luckily, Jacob was on the other side of the courtyard looking over documented reports and listening to a Chosen relay something important. He slipped in under the radar and started his tour of the new cluster of prisoners to be processed. 

 

One of the peggies was present to inform him of their status, telling him that Jacob wanted them fed the first round. Jasper reached a gloved hand into his pocket for his phone when his fingers brushed over empty fabric. He cursed himself, realizing he left his phone in his bag and sighed. He raised a hand with a questioning look, he waved two fingers in front of the peggy, meaning he had a question for them. The scraggly looking man straightened up, giving the mute his focus as Jasper made a tipping motion with his hand towards his mouth. “As far as orders go, no water yet.” The man informed. Jasper nodded his understanding and departed to the kitchen where the meals would be waiting. 

 

Just as he expected, the staff had the ground meat waiting for him, each one was set in individual bowls, equally portioned and set on a tray. Jasper carefully balanced it in one hand and used his hip and boot to nudge doors open to head back out to the courtyard. He spied the soldier was closer now, lurking along the edges between the new cages and the old ones. Somewhere nearby, a Judge was snapping its jaws in a raucous. Jasper assumed it caught the scent of the meat on his tray, it was still warm, a bit too raw for his liking but it was food nonetheless. He never did figure out what kind of animal it came from and hadn’t tasted anything like it since. 

 

As he approached, the militia members withering away in the steal confines suddenly came to life. Wide eyes following him, mouths parted in desperate parched pleas. Hands reaching through the bars, grasping at any sustenance they could. A peggy remained close by to keep order, rifle in hand and finger resting on the trigger. They weren’t adverse to gunning troublemakers down in the cages. Though, Jasper hoped they could get through this civilly. Without his phone to help him communicate and pass on commands to the captives, he had to do this the hard way. 

 

The militia members were wary of him once they realized who he was, eyeing him sideways, knowing looks on their faces as if they can see right through him. A primal snarl curling lips of those that recognized him, some spit his name, others cursed with hoarse syllables. Jasper frowned, feeling the stinging stabbing pain of hurt in his chest. Some of these men and women he had seen around Eli’s bunker. Some he had liberated or helped out at one point or another. Now he was helping in their misery. He offered them a look of apology but it was lost on them. Their glares wilted only briefly when he sat the tray down on a crate, balancing it carefully. He pointed at one of the militia members, watching them give a wide eyed and startled stare. He then directed them towards a portion of the bars. From there he handed them a bowl before shooing them away. Any who didn’t comply were scared away from the bars with the threat of a bullet to the head. One by one, each member got a bowl of the mystery meat and were left to eat. 

 

He turned away from the cage to collect the tray when a voice pushed up through the ambient noise of the busy courtyard. “Was it worth it? That collar around your neck, you dog!” It was a young woman, one Jasper couldn’t quite recall if he was being honest. Her features were simple, long brown hair tied back into a messy greasy ponytail, face oily and covered in grime and sunburn in places where her scarf failed to cover. His head rose, slowly he approached the bars, giving her a sympathetic look. It stirred up the anger in her features as she spit towards him. The others in the cage ceased their desperate scarfing to watch the scene unfold, a tension filling the air between them. Jasper’s hand rose to press his index finger to his lips, a silent command for her to be quiet. She hissed through clenched teeth and growled. “You traitorous bastard! You’re nothing more than a lapdog. You live high on the fucking hog while the rest of us wallow and starve.” 

 

Jasper flinched back, shaking his head slowly to disband her accusations but it did little to help. The peggy at his side approached, slamming the stock of the gun against the bars and clipping her fingers in the process. She let out a pained shriek and fell back with a jolt. Her gaze leveled daggers on Jasper who gave a pained and concerned look in return. “Shut up you stupid bitch!” The peggy growled, turning the gun around so the barrel was aimed inside the cage. Jasper stretched his arm out in front of the man, fingers curling around the barrel and pulling it away. He gave a stern look, pressing his body between the cage and the peggy. 

 

The man growled at him, giving him a conflicted look of agitation and confusion. Jasper only shook his head slowly, the action forcing the frustrated peggy to back off and stalk away to a different set up of cages to harass someone new. Jasper released a sigh, turning his gaze back inside the cage. The militia members were a mixture of confusion, scowls and malice. He didn’t expect anything more and retreated back inside the building with the empty bowls and tray when they were finished. He could still feel the prying eyes on his back, the audience they accidentally attracted from the dramatic display. He really, really hated working the cages. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and kudos below to let me know what you think. Thank you!


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